Untitled - Azam Abidov - poet and translator

My love grew in spite of hunger
exile, sadness, poverty, notwithstanding
nor worry, melancholy, or forgetting,
or the gagged shadow of the just and unjust
to make me a woman of water and volcanoes.
Nicaragua my land of bloodshed
birth and death of the rainbow
with its heavens and hells
its coffers filled with dreams, the bitter gulps,
the myth that proclaims it paradise,
the constant struggle between its inhabitants blood
and heart
where after a long walk
we found the horizon.
She senses me, spreads me
like a mountain range conquered
by pirates and buccaneers.
I have travelled through its rain and foam
like a winged Minotaur
a dragon guarding its impossible dreams.
This is why when I die
I want to be buried with a swath of its sky,
water from the lake
I want its soil
covering my skin,
her name and my name
spelled out
Gloria, Nicaragua.
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